


silsila

by teaspice



Category: Dark Knight Rises (2012)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, M/M, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-18
Updated: 2013-05-02
Packaged: 2017-12-08 21:25:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/766180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teaspice/pseuds/teaspice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. In order to save Gotham from its enemies, John Blake - ward of House Wayne - agrees to marry the leader of Ra's Al Ghul's army: the masked berserker, Bane.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“There is only one payment Ra’s al Ghul is willing to accept, Lord Wayne: An alliance of marriage with your House.”

 

A murmur of surprise rippled through Gotham’s court. The courtiers in jewels and furs, the guardsmen in their armour - they all turned their eyes on Bruce, trying to gauge his reaction to Lady al Ghul’s pronouncement.

 

“An alliance,” Bruce repeated flatly. He was trying to sound calm, trying so very hard, but even from a distance John could hear the low undercurrent of rage simmering in his voice. “You want an alliance with _my_ House.”

 

“Just so,” agreed Lady al Ghul. She smiled.

 

From his seat on the left of the hall - the seating set aside for women and bearers - John could see the entire al Ghul retinue. A dozen soldiers dressed in black stood behind their Lady, who was still gazing across at Bruce with all the regal amusement of an empress holding court. At her side, face swathed in red cloth, stood the man they called her beserker -  the masked soldier who’d killed hundreds of men with nothing but his bare hands, the terror of the sand cities, the leader of the al Ghul army. Bane.

 

Bane was staring at Bruce too, but with an unblinking, malevolent intensity. John had a feeling that if Lady al Ghul allowed it, he’d add Bruce to his tally of dead in a heartbeat. But the Lady clearly had other plans in mind. Her smile was glittering, already quite triumphant. This wasn’t a fight she intended to lose.

 

“You’ve been offered wealth. Generous trade agreements,” said Bruce, his own gaze fixed on the face of Lady al Ghul. “What good will an alliance provide you?”

 

“It is what Ra’s al Ghul desires,” she said. As if that were answer enough.

 

More mutters of discontent. One of the bearers behind John cursed softly under his breathe. The woman next to John was frowning, hands twisting into fists in her lap.

 

“No one will accept it if your lord marries that whore,” she whispered. “The court will rebel.”

 

John said nothing.

 

“House Wayne has ruled for eight generations,” snapped one courtier, face red with rage. “What right do a pack of nomads have to demand marriage from the Lord of all Gotham?”

 

“Ra’s Al Ghul is the lord of all lords, the king of all kings,” the Lady said, calm and precise, unruffled by the man’s words. “Ra’s Al Ghul walked the earth long before the first scion of House Wayne crawled out of the darkness, and he shall walk the earth long after  Gotham is ashes.” She turned back to Bruce, voice sonorous with conviction. “You think you are mighty, _Lord,_ but know this. Without my father’s pack of nomads to defend it, your land will burn.”

 

Silence. No muttering, no denials. Even the woman at John’s side had gone still, her hands frozen into an awkward half curl.

 

No one could deny it.

 

When Bruce finally spoke, his voice was stiff, heavy with repressed rage.

 

“I will not dishonour the memory of my wife by marrying again so soon after her passing,” he said. “I am afraid your payment will have to be - delayed.”

 

“You misunderstand me, Lord Wayne,” said the Lady. “There can be no marriage between us. I think we’d be ill suited, don’t you?”

 

“I am the last surviving member of my House,” snapped Bruce. “There is no one else who could-”

 

“I have been told you have a son,” cut in Lady al Ghul.

 

Her words sliced through John like a knife. He went suddenly cold, as if someone had stripped his veins of blood and filled them with ice. He felt the pressure of hundred of eyes suddenly on him, and carefully schooled his features: face placid, eyes unaware. The face of a good bearer. _Calm, calm. All is well._

 

_Don’t let them see that you’re afraid._

 

“I have no son,” said Bruce tightly.

 

“No? And yet there he sits among the rest of the cattle, wearing your colours,” she said lightly, gesturing at the women and bearers with a dismissive wave of her hand. “ _John Blake_. A boy you saved from poverty, an orphan you took into your care and raised as your own. I have heard people say you would have chosen him for an heir if he were not a bearer.” She smiled again. Beautiful, terrible. “He is the son of your heart, if not of your blood.”

 

A pause. Bruce did not turn to look at John, and John equally tried desperately not to look at him. _Son of your heart._

 

Truth was a cruel weapon.

 

“Who would marry him?” Bruce asked. Voice heavy.

 

“My beloved protector,” she said. And placed one hand, gently, on the arm of her berserker. “My Bane.”

 

There was no mistaking the sharp intake of breath in the watching crowd. Bruce’s face went suddenly shuttered.

 

 _He’ll refuse,_ thought John, numb with terror. _He’ll refuse for my sake, and Gotham will burn to the ground._

 

“A marriage between our Houses,” Bruce said. No emotion in his voice now. “Do you intend to mock me, Lady Talia? You’re asking me to give my ward - a _bearer_ \- to a man with no House. No name.”

 

“The family of Ra’s al Ghul is made of more than blood, just the same as your own,” said the Lady. “That is our price, Lord of Gotham: Give us the son of your heart and my father will give you an army to crush your great enemy. We will accept no other payment.”

 

No more gentle muttering now. The disapproval of the courtiers was building to a steady roar. They didn’t love John - not the way they love Bruce, certainly - but John was a bearer. They’d be damned before they’d place a _bearer_ in barbarian hands, to be raped, to bear a monster’s deformed children. They’d be damned before -

 

John rose to his feet.

 

He was not calm. He was very far from calm. But John was a survivor of plague, of famine, of many dark years of war; he was the ward of Lord Wayne and of his departed Lady; he was a citizen of Gotham. He refused to tremble before a desert witch and her mad dog.

 

He walked forward on soft, steady feet. No one stopped him.

 

Lady al Ghul’s berserker was staring at him.

 

People were always staring at John. It was his bearer marks that inevitably drew their attention: the dark curls of the tattoo that snaked down his body, from the curve of his ear to bones of his ankles. They liked to follow the lines with their eyes. They liked to imagine him undressed.

 

But Bane was not staring at John’s marks. He was staring at John’s face. His eyes were unblinking, full to the brim with an animal intelligence that pierced beneath John’s facade of calm to the terrible fear beneath it. He didn’t look like a man overcome by lust. He looked calculating. Cold.  

 

The berserker was a big man. A hulking, animal figure, a beast no doubt incapable of gentleness or human compassion. John knew all the stories whispered about him, the tales of blood and death, the corpses he’d left behind in pieces. John had no illusions. The al Ghuls wanted John as their hostage, and perhaps as their plaything. If Bruce gave John to them - and he had to, there was no _choice_ \- then he’d be signing John’s death warrant.

 

That wasn’t a decision Bruce had the strength to make.

 

So John... John had to make it for him.

 

He took a step forward. Another. And then, displaying none of the humility expected of a good bearer, he stared directly into Bane’s eyes. It was an insult, and not a subtle one. No doubt it would be wasted on a barbarian, but it gave John the strength to go on.

 

“My Lord,” he said, addressing Bruce, still staring into the eyes of the man he was to wed. “For the sake of Gotham, I’d marry the devil himself. If Bane will have me, I am his.”

 

 _You’re unworthy of me,_ he thought fiercely, tasting grief like poison on his own tongue, hearing the unabated roar of the crowd burst against his ears. _But this land -_

 

_\- for this land I’ll pay any price you ask._


	2. Chapter 2

It was almost dawn when Bruce finally returned to his chambers. Two advisors followed him in. Their faces were pale with exhaustion, their footsteps heavy, but their voices held no weakness in them. They were overloud. Sharp with anger.

 

“You can’t allow it, Lord Wayne. Can’t possibly - ”

 

“The al Ghul whore is playing with us, _don’t you see_ \- ”

 

A maid slipped in behind them, shutting the door after herself with a soft click. She crossed the room, crouching down to stoke the fireplace as the men continued to speak to Bruce in low and furious voices, heedless of their surroundings.

 

The maid was a petite, pale thing, with a servant’s carefully honed ability to go unnoticed when it suited her. Her face was expressionless, her shoulders slightly hunched in an effort to make herself seem even smaller.

 

As she knelt, she looked up. She caught John’s eye.

 

She didn’t startle at the sight of him, curled up on the armchair by the fire. But she did straighten up, a surprised smile shaping her mouth. Suddenly she was animated. Her eyes glittered.

 

 _News_ , she mouthed. _Selina -_

 

He pressed a finger to his own lips.

 

_Later._

 

She hesitated. Nodded. Then she hunched over again, folding in on herself.

 

Once she had the fire burning brightly in the grate, she slipped out of the room as silently as she had arrived. John stayed in his seat, taking comfort in the warmth of the flames. He’d been waiting a long time for Bruce to return and his limbs was near numb with cold. Bruce hadn’t noticed him yet - a rare show of unawareness that revealed just how tired he really was, beneath the fixed alertness of his face. His back was half turned, blocking his advisors out.

 

The men were still talking, unceasing even in the face of Bruce’s pointed silence. It was clear they had no intention of stopping until Bruce ordered them to, and he was in no fit state to put them in their place. He was wavering on his feet. His right leg, damaged many years ago in battle, twitched spasmodically.

 

 _Enough,_ John decided. He had no interest in listening to them prattle on any longer. Besides, he was needed elsewhere: Selina was waiting.

 

John shifted in his seat. He clenched and unclenched his hands, forcing his sluggish blood to run; tilted his head forward and let out a soft exhalation of breath. Although his movements were small and seemingly careless, they were calculated to draw the eye. Firelight cast long shapes over his arms and the arch of his neck, highlighting the curve of his spine, his throat. It melded into the black of his bearer marks like spilled ink.

 

A hush fell over the room.

 

When John looked up he found Bruce and the advisors watching him.

 

“John,” said Bruce, after a long breath of silence. “What are you doing here?”

 

“My Lord,” said John. He kept his eyes fixed on the middle distance, his face placid. But he allowed his voice to waver, just a little. “I couldn’t sleep. My mind is - troubled.” A pause. “May I speak with you privately?”

 

“Of course,” Bruce said gently.

 

He dismissed his advisors with a gesture of his hand. They made no effort to argue.

 

From the corner of his eyes, John saw one of them shoot him a pitying glance. John bit down his tongue to stop himself from snapping. This was no time for anger. ( _But of course, there was never a time for a bearer’s anger._ )

 

Let them think he was weak. Let them think he deserved pity. John knew his own strength. He did not need the approval of pompous fools.

 

The moment the door slammed shut, the energy seemed to seep out of Bruce’s body. His shoulders slumped. He raised one hand to his face.

  

“I thought they’d never leave me be,” he muttered, pressing his fingers hard against his forehead. “I think tonight I’ve been shouted at by every man in this godforsaken court.”

 

John stood up, saying nothing. He could remember the furor that had erupted in the moments after he had faced Bane. It had been... ugly. But the women and bearers had been ushered out of the hall soon after that, so John had witnessed very little of the worst of the court’s ire.

 

“Sit down,” he ordered. “Before you fall over.”

 

Bruce gave a pained laugh.

 

“Sometimes you’re just like her,” he said, and - for once - did as he was told.

 

John turned away, keeping his face carefully averted so that his expression would be hidden from Bruce’s eyes. He had no desire to think of Rachel. She was dead, _murdered_ , and the memory of her was a hurt that John didn’t yet have the strength to face.

 

He walked across the room to the table where Bruce kept his favourite decanter of wine. He poured a glass.

 

He could feel Bruce’s gaze on his back.

 

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Bruce said finally. His voice was unexpectedly soft. “You should never have offered yourself.”

 

“You were going to refuse her,” John replied.

 

“It’s my right as your guardian.”

 

“You always told me I would be allowed to choose my husband when the time came,” John said. “Has that changed?”

 

“This is no choice,” Bruce said. “Not really.”

 

John turned to look at him.

 

“I have as much of a duty to protect this city as you do, Bruce,” he said. “I’d fight for Gotham if I could. But I can’t.” He tried not to sound bitter; tried not to hate the marks on his skin, the way he was made. “This is the only thing I _can_ do. So let me do it.”

 

Bruce’s looked hard into John’s eyes. John stared back steadily. He couldn’t allow Bruce to see him waver.

 

It was only when Bruce lowered his own eyes, relenting, that John walked over to him, pressing the glass into his hands.

 

“I’ve spoken with Lady al Ghul,” said Bruce. Careful. “She would like the wedding to take place as soon as possible.”

 

John sucked in a deep, careful breath.

 

“When?” he asked.

 

“In a week at the most,” said Bruce. His voice was heavy with grief and fatigue. “Once you’re wed, Bane will escort back to al Ghul land. And then he will return with an army. I have Lady al Ghul’s word.”

 

John had never left Gotham. He had no idea what the world was like beyond it walls. He wanted to lean against Bruce and weep like a child. But Bruce’s face was hollow with mourning, shadowed with grief. Burying Rachel had near shattered him. If he knew how afraid John truly was it would break him entirely.

 

“Rest,” said John instead, gentle as a mother to his child. “Drink the wine. It should help you sleep.”

 

Bruce smiled at him faintly.

 

“Ah, John,” he said. “I don’t know how I’ll manage without you.”

 

 _Neither do I,_ thought John. His heart felt cold. He returned Bruce’s smile - faint and strained - and left.

 

The maid was waiting outside the room for him.

 

“Thank you for waiting for me,” he said quietly and warmed, just a little, at her answering grin. “I’d like to see Selina now. Will you take me to her?”

 

* * *

 

Selina was waiting for him in the servant quarters. When she saw him her mouth curved into a smile, but her eyes - her eyes were sad.  

 

“Come here,” she demanded. “Let me look at you.”

 

She beckoned him close to her, inspecting his face critically.

 

“You look like an absolute mess,” she said.

 

“ _You_ look like a harlot,” John told her.

 

“Thank you, John.” She sounded pleased. "I tried my best."

 

No one noticed maids. John knew this. That was why they made such good spies. _Everyone_ noticed courtesans, but as it was with bearers, they pretended not to. There was something about desire that shamed people. Desire made them lower their eyes. It blinded them.

 

Selina had entered Gotham’s court by the simple trick of dressing up like a very expensive whore, the kind favoured by Gotham’s elite. Her dress was bright silk, cut low and daring. Her mouth was painted red. In her current state, no one would recognise her as the Spymistress of the Narrows, the eyes and ears of common Gotham. And that was just as Selina had intended.

 

Long before becoming Lord Wayne’s ward, beforing being taken into the Wayne household by Rachel, John had belonged to Gotham’s Narrows - Gotham at its poorest, its most depraved. It was in the Narrows that he’d first met Selina, and he’d never forgotten her or the things that she had taught him. He never would.  

 

He should have known she’d come to him when she heard the news. And he was grateful, so very grateful, that she had.

 

“I don’t have long to talk,” John said quietly, knowing that Selina would understand. As the ward of Lord Wayne, there were always eyes on him. “I don’t know if you can help me but - Selina - I need to know: what can you tell me about Bane?”

 

“More than your beloved Lord’s spies, that’s for certain,” Selina said, smug and scornful all at once. “You’re lucky I’ve been keeping my eye on the barbarians. Even I can’t usually work with such short notice. But here - take this.”

 

It was a set of papers, neatly bound together.

 

“Everything my people know about Bane,” she said, tapping the first page with her fingertip. “I don’t have long enough to tell you his life story, John. Read it, burn it. You know what to do.”

 

John nodded, murmuring his thanks as he took the papers from Selina’s hands. She took his face in her hands. Her skin was cool, callused. She smelled like smoke and midnight, like Gotham. Like home.

 

“Let me look at you,” she said quietly, drinking the sight of him in.  Her eyes were suddenly fierce and tender. Selina wasn’t usually one for emotion. She was a pragmatist by nature. The sight of such raw, naked affection on her face made John’s heart clench. “When are they taking you?”

 

“I’ll be married in a week,” said John. He tried for a smile. It felt wrong on his mouth. It slipped away from him. “Bane is impatient, I suppose.”

 

Selina’s jaw tightened subtly. She nodded.

 

“People are going to tell you that if you fuck him right he’ll be good to you, John. But that’s a lie. If he wants to hurt you he’ll do it no matter how prettily you spread your legs,” she said bluntly. “If you’re willing to take my advice? You weren’t always gentry. You were dirt once like the rest of us.  Remember how that felt,” she continued, voice relentless, eyes soft. “Remember the trick of being invisible. It might help.”

 

John swallowed. He had a feeling there was nothing good written on the paper in his hands.

 

“You don’t have to worry about me,” he said, and tried to believe it.

 

“I never worry,” Selina said. She released him. “Take care of yourself, John.”

 

Neither of them said goodbye.

 

* * *

 

John returned to his chambers. He stood in the sun-drenched brightness of his own bedroom and thought of nothing. Not of Bruce’s tired face, not of Selina’s hands on his jaw, not of Rachel lying dead and bleeding. Nothing.

 

He needed to rest

 

Instead John sat down by one of the windows. He stared out at the grey-tinged sky and the slums stretching out below it as far as the eye could see. He stared at the smoke rising as, somewhere, Gotham continued to burn.

 

He began to read.

 


End file.
